Ana is semi-conscious in a hospital so she can hear various bits of exposition from other characters, as well as things like:

“If you don’t take her across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was she thinking?”
“Trust me, Ray, I just might do that.”

There’s a domestic discipline sub-sub-culture of BDSM, in which the fantasy is wives being treated like daughters, but it’s jarring to hear it like this, from Ana’s step-father. Christian and Ray can bond over the difficulty in keeping women under control.

We overhear various other snippets of dialogue, which EL James uses to skim over several chapters’ worth of plot resolutions (such as Christian’s epiphanies about his feelings regarding Elena and Ana) while the viewpoint character is completely inert and passive. Another nail in the coffin of Ana’s agency and autonomy.

There’s a lot of tearful reconciliations and medical stuff. We also get some hints of what happened. Hyde was granted bail (despite Christian’s influence) and somehow got Elizabeth to Rohypnol Mia and kidnap her. We also find out how Christian and the Goon Squad figured out where Ana went.

“The Saab is fitted with a tracking device. All our cars are. By the time we got near the bank, you were already on the move, and we followed. Why are you smiling?”

Welcome to the one-man police state that is the Christian Grey Zone. Had Ana wanted to get away from Christian, it would have been just that much harder to escape him since he can track her car and phone.

Ana, of course, isn’t concerned by this at all.

“On some level I knew you’d be stalking me.”
“And that is amusing because?” he asks.
“Jack had instructed me to get rid of my cell. So I borrowed Whelan’s cell, and that’s the one I threw away. I put mine into one of the duffle bags so you could track your money.”

Fitting that Ana has learned how to use surveillance technology, along with other bad habits she picked up from Christian: like verbally abusing employees, or keeping information from people.

Ana and Christian have a talk about impending parenthood.

“What kind of father could I possibly be?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.
“Oh, Christian.” I stifle a sob. “One that tries his best. That’s all any of us can do.”
“Ana—I don’t know if I can . . .”
“Of course you can. You’re loving, you’re fun, you’re strong, you’ll set boundaries. Our child will want for nothing.”

Boundaries? There are no boundaries in the Christian Grey Zone, unless Christian wants them there. This kid is going to grow up spoiled rotten in a security bubble with helicopter parents, an entitled near-sociopathic douche.